


Prisoner X Tag Excerpt

by Mab (Mab_Browne)



Category: The Sentinel (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 08:17:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19058812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mab_Browne/pseuds/Mab
Summary: A brief tag to Prisoner X. Posted for the Concrit Collection. Part of a larger story that will be finished within the week or so and posted separately.





	Prisoner X Tag Excerpt

**Author's Note:**

> So I like all the iddy stuff and whump of Prisoner X as much as the next TS fan but I know that I'm not the first person to go wtaf at the tag where Jim walks off to find some open space - while still inside the prison and wearing his prison uniform. 
> 
> The finished story will be more h/c related and also mildly slash-toned but this small snippet is entirely gen.
> 
> The completed story is here:  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/19327795

Doctor Wilder was safely out of that revolting arena but somehow Blair had lost sight of Jim. He backtracked his way through corridors that were clearing of milling ‘spectators’ and police team members, and found himself hard-pressed not to lean into the wall as if to avoid a snake or a repulsive insect as one protesting woman was escorted past, exclaiming that she’d had no idea, none, no really, this was all a mistake. Like anyone could believe her.

But there, further down the corridor was Jim, bruised and shirtless and starting to shamble in clear exhaustion.

“Jim!” Quieten it down, Blair told himself. “Jim,” he called again, more softly. Jim looked at him, but said nothing.

“Hey,” Blair said. “Hey, man. What happened to your clothes?” 

“I could smell the pepper spray on them so I took them off,” Jim said, flat and matter of fact. He was covered in bruises and cuts – his face, his body. His knuckles were a bloody mess. “I want to go outside,” he said, like it was his dearest heart’s desire, which Blair could well believe after the last week or so.

“Yeah, sure, sure, Jim,” Blair said, as if his own heart hadn’t started hammering at the mention of pepper spray. “Hey, put this on will you? All the police team sighted your picture before we went in, but I’d feel better.” He handed over the ID that had been made up for Jim, photograph and lanyard. Just as well it is a lanyard, Blair thought wildly, because he’s got no shirt to pin it to, now.

Jim held it in his hands a few moments, like he didn’t know what to do with it, before he fumbled it over his head.

“How are your eyes? Your face?” Blair stared up into Jim’s face looking for signs of inflammation. A sentinel with a face full of pepper spray? Blair would lay good money that Jim hadn’t told Simon that little fact.

“Sore. But I think I dialled down. I think. I must have, huh?”

“Apparently so,” Blair said grimly and gently put one hand between Jim’s shoulders. “You want to go outside, let’s get outside.”

Jim said no more, just headed down the corridors like a tired hound on a confused scent. Freedom. Liberty; but he would have missed one turn-off without Blair’s reminder of the right direction.

It was cold outside, and Blair put his own jacket over Jim’s shoulders. He could see Simon talking with one of the lead cops. He caught his eye at a distance, suddenly furious with Jim and Simon both. How could Jim have convinced Simon to let him wander off on his own like that? And they called Blair a bullshit artist. He gestured pointedly a couple of times – at Jim, the direction of the gate, and Simon nodded. It was all the permission Blair needed to head for his rental car.


End file.
